


Take Me to Church

by mandysimo13



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Forgiveness, Hand Jobs, M/M, Murder Husbands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Present Tense, Religious Imagery, Smut, Submission, Will's POV, hannibal's office
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has been harbouring an infatuation, and idolization of Hannibal Lecter and Hannibal encourages him to confess it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me to Church

In the dim of Hannibal’s office a quiet steals over Will’s mind.

It’s been racing constantly, flitting from subject to subject, image to image, like ravenous hummingbirds eager to sample every flower in the garden. The only time his mind clears and falls silent enough for him to focus is when he finally sinks into the cool leather of the chair across from Hannibal’s fingers caressing the armrests. He closes his eyes, thankful for the calm in the storm. The brief moment of respite.

His thoughts have been swirling around two main themes. The death of Abigail and his growing adoration, his desire, his absolute idolization of Hannibal. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when his disgust and hatred for the man who had brought him so low had turned into a twisted form of intense infatuation. Perhaps it was the way that he was so perfectly able to manipulate everyone around them and convince them of seemingly anything. Granted, it wasn’t that much of a stretch to claim that Will was crazy and capable of the intricate murders that he was credited with solving. Really, if one could step inside another’s mind, borrow it for a few hours, it wouldn’t be that hard to borrow it for a weekend, would it?

At least, that was the running theory.

Maybe it was the way that Hannibal had handled Will from the very beginning. Slowly wading Will into the pool, so to speak. Toes first, testing the waters of madness. Then slowly, so slowly it seemed that he had always been a part of Hannibal’s design from the very beginning, he began to shift Will’s focus and his behavior of thinking. Grooming him. Making him his pet.

Truth be told he couldn’t be too upset about it now. His only reason for staying even remotely sane had vanished without a trace, unless you count the ear that he had vomited into the sink. He would have stayed sane for Abigail. But then, for whatever reason, Hannibal took her from him.

Seems a shame to cry over spilled milk. The teacup can never be repaired once shattered. The dead do not grieve.

So why should he.

“Will.” The soft sound of his name being obviously repeated pulled Will from the quiet of the stream where he keeps a fake memory. A memory he wished he could have made with Abigail. He would have liked to teach her to fish, to lure rather than stalk.

“Where did you go just now?”

Will opens his eyes and swallows thickly. “The stream.”

“Visiting Abigail again?”

Will’s smile is a sad one, full of a regret that’s useless to feel. “Luring rather than stalking.”

“Is that what you would have liked to teach her? To take a more passive role in the hunt than proactive?” He slides one leg over the other and cups his knee, looking at Will. “Do you think it would have kept her alive?”

“No.” He knows this for certain. “Nothing I could have done could have saved her. It wasn’t my decision to make.” He refers to Hannibal’s decision to erase her from the stain of humanity.

“No it was not,” Hannibal agrees. He sits back eyeing Will with curiosity, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “It was not her decision either. Given the choice between dying on that kitchen floor and going fly fishing in a cold stream I’m certain she would have chosen the latter.”

Will chuckles humorlessly. “Is that your attempt at a joke, Hannibal?”

Hannibal smiles. “A poor one, at that.” His eyes narrow, his fingers tapping his lips in thought. Will’s focus narrows to those lips. They look so soft and yet like could brutalize. Like the waves crashing against the shore. “There’s something else on your mind, though. You seem distracted by something. What is it?” He tilts his head in concern. Whether it’s real or not Will cannot say.

“What makes you say that, Dr. Lecter?” He knows reverting to a formal address will draw suspicion. He’s nervous. He knows Hannibal knows. He always knows how Will is feeling.

Hannibal doesn’t mention the formality. Why should he? Will came here of his own volition. He knows Will will eventually tell him all he needs to know. He always does. He’s dependable that way. “Because you come to me to talk. You obviously have something to talk about.”

Feeling both restless and tired at once Will rises from the chair like mist from a swamp, lazy and fluidly. He circles to the back of the chair and trails fingertips along the leather. He casts his lure, “maybe I haven’t exhausted my feelings on Abigail.". Will walks to the ladder by the window, resting an arm on a rung and sagging into the sturdy wood.

“Perhaps,” Hannibal says, still seated. “But I think there is more to it than that. You’re nervous. You’ve never been nervous when talking about Abigail before.” He stands from the chair and crosses the room to stand behind Will. He’s near enough that Will can feel his presence sink into his chest, as hooked as Hannibal by his verbal baiting, though they are not physically touching. Will’s heart begins to race at the proximity. “I think there is more on your mind than what you are sharing, Will.”

Surprising himself he turns and levels his eyes with Hannibal. “What do you think is there, Dr. Lecter? On my mind?”

Hannibal raises his chin in a show of dominance. “I think you came here to confess something.”

“And are you meant to be my confessor?”

Hannibal takes a step into Will’s personal space, crowding him against the hardness of the ladder. He feels the press of wood into the backs of his ribs and his shoulders. His mouth is dry. “If that is how you wish to see me, this night, as your confessor, I will do so willingly.” He takes another step so the tips of their shoes touch and brings his face inches from Will’s. “Is there something you wish to confess?”

God does he want to confess. He wants to drop to his knees in recognition of the growing, arousing tension he feels between him and Hannibal. The scales have fallen once again from his eyes and his desire has been made clear to him. He wants to confess to wanting nothing but Hannibal. He wants to feel him invade entirely. He wants Hannibal to rip out every pure thought he ever had, his goodwill to a world that condemned him and called him freakish and replace everything with his design. Delicate and intelligent games played with the bodies of others. He’s always been a fast learner. It would be like playing chess with a world champion. He would make a worthy opponent.

The thought of Hannibal entering his life, his body, his mind permanently stiffens his anatomy. He grows warm, his breath quickens and shivers drive themselves from his scalp to the tip of his hardening cock.

Hannibal is waiting for an answer but he cannot form the words he wants to say. He cannot convey how much he wants to let go and just let Hannibal take his cares away from him and rebuild him. Would Hannibal give him new cares? Somehow he doubts that.

“William,” the use of his full name makes his eyes flutter closed. “Tell me.”

Finally Will regains his voice long enough to whisper hoarsely, “Take me to church, Hannibal. Make me confess.”

Hannibal’s smile is one of triumph. The way a bully smiles when he makes his victim cry or when a hunter knows he’s brought down a large buck. It’s cruel and it makes Will’s knees weak.

The doctor takes a large step back and Will feels the loss of nearness in his bones. The feeling is soon replaced with relieved gratitude when Hannibal lays a heavy hand on the top of his head and applies the barest hint of pressure, urging him to sink to his knees. He does so, hands resting on his thighs, knowing that Hannibal knows what he wants, needs, from the good doctor. Like a supplicant before the Pope he kneels and silently begs for the courage to confess.

“William,” shivers run through Will’s body at the sound of his name being said so reverently. His nipples harden with anticipation. Hannibal's fingers run through his curls, tugging slightly and scraping lightly along his scalp. “You know that I offer no absolution.”

Will looks up at Hannibal, eyes locking. “I need no absolution, Hannibal.” He licks his lips, smiling. “We were born sick. You,” Will says thickly, his voice heavy with burning desire and anticipation, “Make me sick. Command me to be well.”

His eyes flick momentarily to eye the tenting in Hannibal’s very expensive suit before down-casting them to the floor. He is the very picture of pious devotion, kneeling before an altar of base desires and motivation. Hannibal, one hand still buried in Will’s curls trails across his hip to his fly. He unzips it achingly slow and Will has to concentrate on not shaking with need. In a moment Hannibal’s thick, hard cock is free and Will salivates at the thought of worshiping it with his mouth. “Will you receive the body of your redeemer,” Hannibal asks knowing full well the answer.

This is his communion. This is the body of heaven to him.

Will opens his mouth, his tongue protruding ever so slightly. Hannibal cups Will’s chin in his hands, his life taking hands, and guides his mouth to his leaking prick.

Will had never been one for praying but, here and now, Will worships like the most devout of believers. His tongue on Hannibal’s cock becomes the center of Will’s world. He licks a stripe from root to tip and feels Hannibal shiver beneath his tongue. His lips encase the head of Hannibal’s cock and suck purposefully before pulling off to mouth at the underside, tonguing the cluster of nerves beneath the head. Hannibal’s cock twitches in delighted pleasure and he hears Hannibal suck in gasps of breath at each action Will performs. Finally he takes Hannibal in hand and slides the silken flesh into his mouth and he does not stop until the head of Hannibal’s cock touches the back of his throat. Then he begins to worship in earnest.

He hollows his cheeks and sucks, running his tongue the length of Hannibal as his thumb traces circles at the base of him. Hannibal emits what can only be considered a growl as Will slides him in and out. His own neglected cock throbs in need, urging Will to finish so that he may beg for relief. His desire is so intense he moans around the taste of Hannibal.

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal groans. “Let me take your sins from you.” Hannibal’s hips begin to rock in rhythm, fucking into Will’s mouth. He lets Hannibal take control, dropping his hands and bracing them against Hannibal’s thighs.

Will whines at the thought. The thought that Hannibal’s dark and dirty desires that mirror his own could make him clean makes him leak hotly in his pants. He trembles, nearly choking on the hardness of Hannibal. He lets Hannibal control him, just as he unknowingly did in the past, letting Hannibal use him, bucking harshly into his mouth. This time it’s different. This time Will invited Hannibal to use him and he’s ready for Hannibal to consume him.

“Ah, Will,” Hannibal gasps as he comes spilling down Will’s throat, holding himself deep in Will's mouth so he can’t breathe. He doesn’t panic. This is what he wanted and he swallows every drop of him. His confession complete.

When Hannibal slides his slickened cock from Will’s mouth he remains kneeling, breathing heavily. Hannibal’s hand removes itself from his head and the loss of heat of his hand is palpable. He doesn’t watch as Hannibal tucks himself back into his pants.

“William.” Will’s eyes snap up to Hannibal’s, his mouth slightly agape. “Would you give me your life?” Will nods. “Would you accept my offer of sanctifying, laying hands on you?” Once again he nods even if he is unsure of how he is to continue. He’s so close even from bringing Hannibal to orgasm. He needs this. He needs Hannibal’s hands on him.

Hannibal drops to one knee with his face still hovering above him. He lays his palm against Will’s chest and presses him to leaning into the sturdiness of the ladder behind him. Will sends his shaking arms above his head to clutch at the rungs just above his head to steady himself. The image he sets before Hannibal is a powerful one. Like a virgin sent to sacrifice, he’s stretched out beneath Hannibal’s gaze.

He feels the doctor’s hands slide down his chest to rest just at his belt. Hannibal runs his thumb along the head of Will’s cock that’s been straining for satisfied freedom for what seems like eternity. The air is sucked from Will and he keens. In a swift motion Hannibal moves his hand to cup him through the fabric of Will’s pants and Will chokes back a sob of pleasure. He needs, oh God he needs. His head feels fuzzy with it, drunk on desire. He feels Hannibal undo his belt, the button and fly of his pants and the cool air hits him violently. He spasms at the contact of the air and his hips twitch into Hannibal’s hand seeking warm friction. Hannibal obliges him, closing his fist around him while with his other hand he tugs Will’s shirt upward, baring his navel and bottommost ribs.

“Beautiful Will, let go of the shreds of trepidation.” He strokes upward, his thumb smoothing over the slit of his head. “I’ve got you.” He leans in and whispers into Will’s ear. “You are forgiven.”

With a cry Will comes so violently stars bloom under his eyelids. His whole body convulses with realized release and he bites his lip, biting back moans and curses. His stomach quivers, his thighs tremble from exhaustion at having knelt for so long. He’s about to let go of the ladder when the wet heat of Hannibal’s tongue descends on his stomach, lapping up the evidence of Will’s orgasm.

Once Hannibal releases Will’s softening cock Will slumps, boneless, sitting on his posterior as he waits for the waves of spent desire to fade. He comes to after a moment of controlled breathing and he fastens himself back inside his pants.

He hasn’t noticed that Hannibal has risen and gone off to retrieve a bottle of deep red merlot. When he offers Will a hand to help him stand he takes gratefully. His legs are wobbly but they will hold if Will concentrates. He takes Hannibal’s offering of wine. He breathes in its bouquet and is about to take a sip when Hannibal clears his throat.

“You have given yourself to me, Will. I am deeply honored.” He turns a kind smile on Will and adds, “I will do everything in my power to continue earning the devotion you showed me here today.” He raises his glass and clinks it against Will’s. “To forgiveness of past sins?”

“Yes,” Will says breathlessly. “Forgiveness of past sins.”

Their covenant is sealed with the sharing of wine just as it was sealed with the sharing of their mutual fluids, through saliva and semen. They’re irreparably joined now and Will’s thrums with excitement, the prospect of playing Hannibal’s game intoxicating.

They sip their wine in silence, resetting the board and planning future moves around each other. Will no longer cares for the neat facade of sanity of his life before. He craves the ritual of Hannibal now and doesn’t find in him an ounce of regret.

**Author's Note:**

> This was heavily influenced by the song Take Me to Church by Hoziers


End file.
